


Unwritten

by mattzerella_sticks



Series: Season 14 Inspired [16]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angry Castiel, Angst, Angst and Feels, Based on Speculation, Castiel and Dean are a couple of dumbasses, Coda, Comforting Castiel, Death's books, Depressed Dean Winchester, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, HAPPY ENDING THOUGH DON'T WORRY, M/M, Mentions of both Dean and Castiel's deals, Post 14x12, Sweet Castiel (Supernatural), Sweet Castiel/Dean Winchester, Sweet Dean Winchester, The Power Of Love, but they work through it together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-10-18 21:04:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17588381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mattzerella_sticks/pseuds/mattzerella_sticks
Summary: Post 14x12 coda based on speculationDean's plan - the lone happy ending in all his books - didn't work. Spiraling in a depression, he is left adrift in the seas of destiny, feeling like they're pushing him towards a fate he cannot bear. What makes it worse is the lighthouse shining from across the way, acting as if he has any choice in stopping himself from hitting the rocky shore.Why can't Castiel get the hint?





	Unwritten

**Author's Note:**

> Usually wait until after the episode to write codas (that are this deep) but I was inspired after reading two posts on Tumblr and thinking about this episode being Castiel telling Dean about his deal.
> 
> So this was borne! Enjoy!

            Dean hadn’t changed out of his wet clothes yet. He slumped into the first chair he saw, ignorant to Sam’s cries. It didn’t matter to him, whether the seawater would stain the cushions like they might have done to the leather interior of his car. Or that he could catch a cold if he stayed dressed like he was. ‘ _Nothing matters now, since it didn’t work…_ ’ His melancholy clung like to him like the salty sea spray, every deep inhale another reminder that his fate had been sealed – _unlike_ his box.

            Sam retired for the night, promising to tackle the problem come morning. His inspiring speech didn’t have any effect; Dean’s mind stuck back with the Ma’lak Box as it slowly sank deeper and deeper into the dark ocean. Empty, with its door swung wide. Like how he was feeling. Like how his prison will soon be. ‘ _I should be there with it, like in the book._ ’

            It’d be easier to deal with, except people kept shining lights in his direction. Flashing them over, exposing the daunting bleakness that was inside. It was Castiel’s turn now. Castiel, who sat across from him, staring. Looking at him with eyes as blue as the ocean he tried drowning himself in. His hands folded over themselves in mock prayer. Dean couldn’t take it.

            “Hey,” he barked, “You got anything better to look at?” Castiel shrugged. His lack of response, only further angered Dean. “You’re not gonna say anything either?”

            “What is there to say?”

            “That you were right… and it didn’t work,” Dean said, “How it was hopeless to _try_ and I shouldn’t have even _attempted_ it because it was _always_ going to fail because I’m a _failure_ and _nothing_ ever goes right –“

            “I’d never say that, Dean.”

            “But… But…” Head hung, he rubbed at his eyes with the palm of his hands, “But it’s _true…_ ”

            Castiel sighed. “Dean –“

            “No, Cas, I don’t… I don’t want to hear it.”

            “You have no idea what I was about to say.”

            “I know enough. I know you’re glad I’m here and not locked away with nothing but fish and Michael for company.”

            His angel huffed, pulling back. Dean knew he stabbed at a nasty wound, the memory of their conversation in the hospital still fresh for both of them. “And what if I am? Is that a terrible thing?”

            “Don’t know how it’s _not_.”

            “Maybe the fact we’re here _talking_ is a good thing,” Castiel said, “That we have another chance to free you from Michael –“

            “There isn’t another chance, Cas!” Dean cried, “This was it! And now I get a front row ticket to watch Michael destroying the world and everyone I care about.”

            “You don’t know that –“

            “And where do you get off, anyway?” he asked, “Talking about _chances_. Seemed like you were pretty fine accepting that deal with the Empty – enough to not _tell_ us about it.” He twisted the knife deeper, sickeningly enjoying the look of regret on Castiel. “If you didn’t catch me with the box, were you ever going to? Or were you just gonna disappear one day and leave us to wonder if you finally had enough of playing human?”

            “I… This _isn’t_ the same thing, Dean.”

            “ _Bullshit_. You make a promise with an all-powerful creature to sacrifice yourself for someone else – it’s like staring into a fucking mirror!”

            “Are you going to blame yourself for this, too?” Castiel asked, tone bitter and biting, “Use this to feel even worse? Dull the pain with even _more_ pain until you just _numb_ completely?”

            “Seems like all I’m good for these days…”

            “You… you…” Castiel slammed his fist down on the table, shaking it. He stood, shoving the chair back, scraping against the floor. His shoulders heaved with the righteousness of his anger. Dean shrunk under his powerful gaze, burning with his grace. “I am my own person who can make my own decisions. Not everything is about you or _because_ of _you_. The world might be on your shoulders, Dean Winchester, but most of it finds you completely irrelevant. There are people around the globe who can go about their days without thinking ‘Is this what Dean Winchester would do?’ And there are people _here_ who can do the same. Like _me_ you… you wet, sad sack of flesh.”

            Dean was stunned. Castiel stilled, but poured his fury out around him, the raw emotion making the air around him crackle with intense electricity. Inside Dean’s own body, a rush of emotions fought for control. He wasn’t sure which won, too worn down by the nothing previously occupying his body to identify it. But he was laughing, and tears streamed down his face.

            His angle startled. “Why are you _laughing_?” Castiel asked, head skewed to the right, “Why are you… why are you _crying_?”

            Dean shook his head. “I have no idea, Cas,” he said, “I have no idea what I’m doing…” He dropped his face into his hands, shaking with the overwhelming weight crushing him, sweeping over him like a tidal wave. Michael pounded even harsher than before, and he felt the lock bend further than it has ever gone.

            In an instant, a strong set of arms enveloped him. “Shh, Dean… it’s okay…” Castiel whispered, stroking his hair back and forth. Dean snuck a peek out from between his fingers. Castiel kneeled beside him, all the anger gone, replaced with something even deeper: _worry_.

            “It’s not okay,” Dean said, “I’m going to lose my body and you’re going to disappear…”

            Castiel smiled. “If it makes you feel any better, the Empty wouldn’t have the satisfaction of taking me if Michael kills me.”

            “That really doesn’t Cas…”

            Castiel nodded, lapsing back into silence. He continued petting his hair, the motion relaxing him. Dean leaned into it, humming. “You know,” Dean said after a while, “things were really starting to look up for us. That’s what makes this suck a whole lot more.”

            “Yes.” Castiel clucked his tongue, sighing. “You know I didn’t mean any of what I said.” 

            “You weren’t wrong,” Dean said, “I am _very_ irrelevant.”

            “Not to the people who care about you. Not to Sam or Jack or… or _me_ ,” Castiel told him, “I… didn’t want to _burden_ you with this information. I know how much you already carry with you… seen how fractured your mind is. Who am _I_ to add any unnecessary stress when you’re dealing with so many other things at the moment? Besides, this was something _I_ chose to do, and when the time comes, it’ll be for _me_ to handle.”

            “You’re not a burden Cas. Your problems _are_ my problems. You shouldn’t have to face anything alone.”

            “Then why do you choose to do so yourself?”

            Dean looked away, hands fiddling with each other. “I…” He can’t lie to his angel, each untruth drying up in his mouth and turning to dust. “I don’t know. Guess I’m just… used to it. Old habits and all that…” He chuckled, the dark notes echoing in the empty room. “Maybe I’ll never learn… too broken to ever work normally.”

            “You’re not broken, Dean.”

            “I _am_ ,” he insisted, “You said it yourself – there are _fractures_! All in _here_!” Dean pointed to his head, jabbing at it. “It’s how Michael took control, how he’ll break out. There’s nothing holding my mind together but paperclips and rubber bands. And when he leaves… even that won’t work anymore.”

            He kept at his head, each harsh tap of his finger another painful reminder of his faults. Castiel grabbed at it, holding his hand, pulling it away and back towards his lap. “You misunderstand me, Dean. That’s not what I meant at _all_ ,” he explained softly, “Yes there are fractures but… they do not make you weak. Your mind is _strong_. In all those cracks of fear and sadness I saw thousands of happy memories filling their space. Keeping you whole, keeping you _sane_. The edges may have been roughed, but you managed to protect yourself from their sharpness. Your scars shone like gold; a testament to the beauty of the human spirit. It made me _proud_ to see how well you hold yourself together, even through all the disasters you suffered through.”

            Dean kept his eyes on Castiel, his speech wrapping around his heart and filling it with warmth. Softness bloomed in him, almost like a wildflower in the spring. “You really think all that?”

            He nodded. “I know it’s scary having Michael in there, and things seem pretty bleak. But you can hold him there until we figure out another plan. And when he’s gone… _you_ will still be here.”

            “I… I’m not sure,” Dean admitted, “I won’t give up but – but it’s hard, all alone –“

            “Then you won’t be alone, Dean,” Castiel said, “I’ll be here to help in any way. Let me show you that you don’t have to handle everything by yourself.” He squeezed Dean’s hand, and he repeated the gesture moments later.

            “Okay… but then you gotta let me do the same.”

            “Dean…”

            “No,” Dean frowned, “If we beat Michael… I want to know you’ll be here the next morning. The Empty ain’t taking you without a fight… and I can get pretty scrappy when people try taking things from me. Especially when it’s something – some _one_ I care about.”

            Castiel laughed, his deep chuckle filling his chest like a deep lungful of fresh air. His angel agreed. “It would be awful when the moment I get to be happy, it’s all for naught.”

            “Well, the good thing about being _us_ Cas is that we don’t _get_ to be happy.”

            “…How is that a good thing?”

            “No, listen,” Dean continued, smiling, “It’s true. People like us don’t get happiness served up on a silver platter. We have to make it for ourselves. Had been for the… for the longest time. But whenever we tried it always seemed to just… fall apart. Knocked over like a stack of cards.” He tangled his fingers with Castiel’s, staring into his eyes. “Maybe because we kept trying alone?”

            “…What are you trying to say Dean?”

            “Say? Nothing,” Dean told him, “I’m just a man, holding back an archangel from destroying the world, asking an angel with the shadow of an ancient entity hanging over him if he’d like to work towards being happy… _together_?”

            “You want us to re-write our stories?” Castiel asked, “Defy fate?”

            “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

            It was a long pause before Castiel grinned; a gummy thing that made Dean’s engine _run_. “Of course,” he said, “I want nothing more than to be at your side.”

            “Well all right then.” Then, for a moment, Dean was unsure of what to do next. Castiel was fully occupied with Dean: stroking his hair, squeezing his hand, gazing at him as if he shone better than the brightest treasures on Heaven and Earth. It was the most comforting feeling, and Dean could not hold back the yawn that tore through him.

            “You should get some rest,” Castiel said, “It’s been a long day for you.”

            “For both of us.”

            “I don’t know what you mean?”

            “You could use some shut-eye, too?” Dean asked, hopeful, “And I… I don’t want to be alone.”

            Castiel understood. He helped Dean up, and while still holding hands, guided him to his room. Dean let Castiel take the lead, for once happy to be out of control. There wasn’t anything for him to be worried about if he let the tide pull him. He didn’t need to fight.

            Because – for the first time since he was locked away – Michael was _quiet_. 

* * *

 

            Billie couldn’t catch a break. It happened while she was filling out paperwork, going over ledgers of all the people who passed that day, and building schedules for her reapers.

            Her dimension shook, as if their pocket was struck by lightning tossed down from God himself. Billie nearly fell out of her chair. In front of her, the shelves trembled from the strain. One quaked ferociously, as if it proving to be the source of the phenomena. Thankfully, everything stopped almost as soon as it began.

            Reapers flew to her, asking what had happened. She ignored them all, standing, striding over to that one bookshelf. The one marked ‘W’. The one where all the books end the same. During the event, a lone book dropped from the shelves, landing face down on the floor.

            She picked it up, leafing through its pages to make sure nothing bent. They were all still crisp, but something else made her worry. She flipped though it until she hit the end of the book. And when Billie did, she pulled out another one to do the same. Her reapers watched her do this for six more books before she stopped.

            Billie stepped back, unsure of what to do. “I… I can’t believe it…”

            “Billie?” one of her reapers asked, “What’s wrong? What did you read?”

            “… _Nothing_.”

            Death owned books that detailed the varying ways people would die. This had always been the case since the very first person was born, and Death sprung into existence. No one escaped Death, and the books proved it. Except, for the first time ever, the books were blank.

            _Dean Winchester’s_ books were _blank_.

**Author's Note:**

> Did ya like? I hope so! Let me know - drop a kudos/comment below!!


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